of the child. The great, smiling wax doll had ridden between Jim and
Eva in the buggy, Eva had held the pink cup and saucer with a kind
of mechanical carefulness, and Ellen herself clutched the pinks in
one little hand, though she crushed them against her aunt's bosom as
she sat in her lap. Ellen's grandmother and aunt had glanced at
these treasures with momentary astonishment, and so had her mother,
but curiosity was in abeyance for both of them for the time; rapture
at the sight of the beloved child at whose loss they had suffered
such agonies was the one emotion of their souls. But later
investigation was to follow.

When Ellen did not seem to care for her hot milk liberally sweetened
in her own mug, and griddle-cakes with plenty of syrup, her mother
looked at her, and her eyes of love sharpened with inquiry. "Ain't
you hungry?" she said. Ellen shook her head. She was sitting at the
table in the dining-room, and her father, mother, and aunt were all
hovering about her, watching her. Some of the neighbor women were
also in the room, staring with a sort of deprecating tenderness of
curiosity.

"Do you feel sick?" Ellen's father inquired, anxiously.

"You don't feel sick, do you?" repeated her mother.

Ellen shook her head.

Just then Mrs. Zelotes Brewster came in with her
black-and-white-checked shawl pinned around her gaunt old face,
which had in it a strange softness and sweetness, which made Fanny
look at her again, after the first glance, and not know why.